


Black Widow's Trick or Treat

by RABunzai



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Costumes, Crack, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Halloween, The Black Widow Is Scary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 01:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5072881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RABunzai/pseuds/RABunzai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Otherwise known as five (or six) times someone went dressed as the Black Widow to a Halloween party and the one time Natasha (accidentally) did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Widow's Trick or Treat

(1)

She wasn’t at SHIELD the first time someone went dressed as the Black Widow to the annual Halloween party. By her recollection she was somewhere near the Ukrainian border or in the Afghan Desert or in a Siberian mine, either way she was still with the Red Room which is why her memory’s probably a little fuzzy on the particulars.

Clint tells her the story of the first time. How he only popped by the SHIELD shindig because the canteen was closed and the buffet was free.

“And you are…. Carmen Sandiago?” Clint asks Benitez whose refilling a bowl full of skittles.

“What? No,” She says, wrapping her trench coat around herself and dipping her chin to hide her face with the floppy hat. “I’m the Black Widow,” she stammers in a terrible Russian accent.

“The black what?”

Benitez looks scandalized. “Chyornaya Vdova, The Slavic Shadow, The Red Death?” She rattles off more names and Clint stares at her through the holes in his kabuki mask.

“She’s a ghost.” Sitwell pipes in, reaching across Clint to grab a candy apple from the buffet. “SHIELD’s had us trying to track her around the Eastern Bloc but it’s pointless because she’s a myth, a ghost story just like the Winter Soldier.”

“She’s not a myth.” Benitez says pulling at the collar of her coat. “Things are happening over there, big things. We’re getting close, I know it.”

 

Six months later Clint gets the assignment that changes his life. He knows something’s up when Nick Fury walks in instead of Phil.

“The Black Widow.” Fury says, throwing the file on the table.

“I thought she was a ghost?” Clint murmurs, opening the folder. He pulls out a photo, a grainy black and white image of a girl in a trench coat and large hat.

He looks up when he feels Fury staring at him.

“Boo.”

 

 

(2)

 

“Vasko we need to see Hill, it’s an emergency!” Clint rasps into the speaker, leaning on Natasha in an effort to keep the weight off his recently acquired rolled ankle.

“Sorry, no costume, no entry.”

“Are you futzing kidding me!?!” Clint growls at the control panel. “We’re not here for the damn Halloween party, we’re here because our mission got shot to hell and we have some very _time sensitive_ , classified information Hill should hear right now!” The archer accentuates the point by holding up the tiny USB stick way too close to the camera.

Regardless, Natasha thinks Clint has adequately conveyed their situation and doesn’t feel the need to chime in. It probably doesn’t help that she is still a little concussed.

“Her orders man, she was sick of people turning up in tac gear. No costume, no entry.” Vasko it seems still needs convincing. Give the apprentice mechanic a little bit of power and it goes to his head.

“This is an emergency! We don’t have time for that shit just let us in!” Clint was not taking the sudden power trip well.

“Hall and Magdy already tried that and I told them the same thing. No costume, no entry.”

“I dare you to come out here so I can write that on that big thick forehead of yours!” Natasha winces as Clint yells the insult in her ear. This was getting ridiculous; arguing was getting them nowhere.

“Vasko, what if we’re in someone else’s tac gear?” Natasha asks.

There was a pause.

“Like what?”

She takes in a deep breath, ignores the throbbing at her temple and looks to Clint. “Strip” She orders as she unclips her belt and holster. Hawkeye freezes, his posture rigid and his eyes glazed over.

“Clint?” she asks, suddenly worried his injuries might be worse than she thought.

He blinks before he comes back to himself and exhales a long shaky breath. “Yeah I know,” he holds up a hand and then drops his quiver off his shoulder. “Just needed to store that away for later.”

If she hadn’t just removed her bites she would have shocked him.

It doesn’t take long to undress; it’s the re-dressing part that is trouble, mostly for Clint. There’s no way he’s going to get those arms in the sleeves of her suit so they’re cut off. She is surprised he does manage to get the pants on though, as tight as they are. It doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination.

“Happy now?” Clint growls at the speaker and is rewarded when the door opens and a wave of music hits them. He adjusts his belt and walks through the doorway; pausing three steps inside when he notices Natasha hasn’t followed.

“You coming?” he asks.

She nods, forcing her eyes from his backside and up to meet his. “Yep, just you know, storing this for later.”

 

(3)

 

The weird thing is, after they save New York they become something like celebrities. There are action figures and T-Shirts and yes, even costumes. So when she eventually attends one of Stark’s Halloween parties surrounded by people dressed as Thor and Ironman and Captain America, it all feels a bit surreal.

Stark has gone all out though and the floor of the tower is covered in intricately carved pumpkins, spider webs and helium filled ghosts that float around the room. Pepper finds her at the bar, the other woman rocking a black pants suit and a carefully drawn goatee.

“You look terrifying.” Natasha deadpans as Potts smiles.

“Well, it was the scariest thing I could think of and… I don’t know what that says about our relationship?” Natasha wants to respond but Pepper cuts in. “Rhetorical question. Don’t answer that.”

The spy smirks.

They order a bottle of wine between them and Natasha waits for Pepper by the bar, the other woman briefly gone to put out another one of Stark’s fires when the Black Widow appears.

She’s wearing a short red wig that’s clearly fake, black leather pants that would offer no range of movement in a fight and a leather top with a zip in the front that’s sitting too low to be appropriate. Natasha fights the urge to call the bartender over and change her order from wine to a bottle of vodka.

“Nice costume.” She says instead as the woman finishes ordering some complicated cocktail.

“Thanks, not many options for sexy yet dangerous…” The Black Widow leans against the bar, breasts almost spilling out her top and eyes Natasha’s dusty pink leotard and loose fitting skirt.

“What are you?” she asks, brows furrowed.

“I’m a ballerina.”

“They’re not scary.”

“Hmm,” Natasha takes a sip of her wine. “The ones I grew up with were.”

 

(4)

 

It turns out cartel owner Angelo Hernandez loves Halloween as much as the next person. There’s probably a good reason why. Drug running is usually just as much about power than money and it’s not surprising someone into those things would see the appeal of a night that’s all about celebrating fear. Natasha could probably build a very thorough psychological profile on Hernandez if she thought more deeply about it but she’s a little busy trying to crack said cartel owner’s safe.

“Widow can I get an update.” Clint is in her ear, his spot on top of a roof a few villas over means he lost sight of her as soon as she entered the building.

Hernandez’s villa made the perfect setting for a Haunted House party and he’s invited over 100 of his friends to enjoy the night. It’s a haze of smoke machines and candle light which makes it easy enough for Natasha to sneak in the back unnoticed in her dark tac suit and creep her way to his study.

Most of his manpower has been distributed to watch his guests so tonight is their best shot at stealing the logistical details for his next shipment of stolen Stark Tech

“I’m at the safe, give me a moment.” She twists the dial a few times, feels the microscopic click of it falling into place and then pulls. “I’m in.”

From there it’s easy enough to copy his hard drive across to a thin USB, complete with navigational maps and times of his next shipment. Natasha wipes down the safe and prepares to leave.

“We’ve got trouble, I think they know something’s up. Your exit through the back is covered and security’s gone twitchy.” Clint’s voice comes across strained in her ear.

At the same time Natasha hears footsteps and at the brief turn of the doorknob she raises her gun.

“Oh sorry, I thought this was the bathroom-“ The woman trails off when she sees the pistol raised and pointed in her direction.

Natasha tilts her head, measuring the intruder as the beginning of a plan forms. She presses a finger to the comm in her ear. “Hey Hawkeye, I think my extraction just walked in.” To the woman she says, “I’m going to need your dress.”

 

She leaves through the front door, smiling shyly at the guards as she passes and no one notices the way her dress or heels are a size too big. Minutes later a hysterical Black Widow comes rushing from the rooms upstairs and is instantly piled on by several burly security guards. By the time Hernandez’s men realize she’s not the real Black Widow SHIELD’s already got a STRIKE team moving in on the stolen Stark Tech.

 

 

 

(5)

 

“He’s been fed and walked and fed again because I forgot about the first time so he shouldn’t be hungry but there’s still pizza in the fridge if you want.” Clint calls out from somewhere in his bedroom. Natasha shrugs and looks at the dog whose big brown eye shifts from her to the fridge and back.

“Not going to happen.” She tells him and then watches as the mutt visibly pouts.

“Thanks again for looking after him Nat, he’s been a bit funny you know and I didn’t want to leave him alone and I knew you weren’t going to Stark’s party this year with that busted foot and all-“ Clint’s muffled rambling from the other room is cut off by a knock at the door, “- hey can you get that, it’ll be Kate.”

“I’m not your maid Hawkeye.” She growls but moves to answer the door, ignoring the crutch she should be using.

It was indeed the younger Hawkeye, who beams as soon as she sees Natasha.

“Looking good,” Nat nods as Kate does a spin around in her costume.

“What can I say, I look badass!” Kate grins. “Thanks for the last minute invite and costume idea!”

“Yeah well, I’d rather not telegraph my current situation.” Natasha says, nodding to the cast on her foot.

“Can I ask -”

“Tanks are heavy.” She quickly answers the question she knows is coming. Before Kate has enough time to think about that she gingerly walks back to her bag on the kitchen table and pulls out the bracelets.

“Here, I bought a little something to complete the look.”

“No way!” Kate’s eyes light up as she leaps into the kitchen and Natasha wonders if she’s going to regret this.

“The voltage is set on low. Press here with your thumb and then squeeze.” Kate does as instructed and a small spark of electricity jumps between her knuckles. “Use only if you have to or if Clint goes near the punch.” Natasha quips, securing them on the younger girls wrist.

“If I what?” Clint asks, walking out of his bedroom clutching a blonde wig and a papier-mâché hammer, only to stumble at the sight of two Black Widow’s standing in his kitchen. “Uh, Nat, Katie-Kate?”

“Isn’t it great!” Kate squeals as another bolt of electricity dances along her fingers. Natasha is very glad she reduced the setting on her bites.

Clint still looks dumbstruck, eyes shifting suspiciously between the two women in the room. It’s an interesting look on Thor.

“Kate, you can’t go dressed as my gir-mph” Clint has enough sense to clamp his mouth shut before the rest of that word pops out. Natasha raises an eyebrow, daring him to continue. She can practically see his mind whirring through a range of options before settling on one less… provoking. “- My Natasha.” He finishes dumbly, crossing his arms and pouting.

“Smooth” Natasha says, rolling her eyes and hobbling past him to sit on the couch. There would be a conversation about that later.

Kate ignores the exchange. “What? It’s Halloween and I wanted to go as the scariest thing I could think of.” She pauses and glances at Nat. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Natasha shrugs and leans over to rub Lucky’s stomach, smiling a little when she finds the spot that makes his tongue roll out.

“Yes,“ Clint grumbles watching his dog melt under her touch, “She’s terrifying.”

 

 

(+1)

 

There are times to stay and fight and then there are times to run and hide. When Natasha breaks out of Igor Glavovic’s luxurious business retreat with a dozen armed guards trailing after her, she opts for the latter and is not the least bit sorry for it.

She ducks and weaves around the laneways, running past the maze of side streets and alleys that link mansion to mansion until she’s just out of sight of her pursuers and then flings herself on top of the nearest wall, grimacing at the pain radiating through her shoulder as she pulls herself over thick stone capping and lands ungracefully in the shrubbery on the other side.

She gives herself a moment in the dirt, one long breath to reset herself and then peeks over the plants she’s fallen in to assess the situation.

 

Two blue eyes stare back at her.

“Uh, hi.” Natasha grunts, clenching her fists to stop from reaching for a weapon on reflex. The child looks at her, eyes red around the edges, tears falling down her ruddy cheeks and a little snot dripping from her nose.

Given the choice between a crying child and an angry mob with guns, Natasha is sorely tempted to jump back over the wall. There are no footholds on this side though and it would probably do more damage to her shoulder than it’s worth.

The spy’s sudden appearance seems to have halted the flow of tears and the kid, no older than ten, blinks and swipes at her cheeks with the sleeve of her shirt.

It’s then Natasha registers just what the kid is wearing, black pants and a dark sweater with a crudely drawn hourglass on an overly large belt. _Well, huh._

The movement of people further back in the yard catches her attention. She’s managed to land in a fairly secluded corner of the garden, hidden away from the hoard of children dressed in all manner of costumes running around to giant buckets dumping handfuls of candy in plastic pumpkin baskets.

“Are you okay?” the mini Black Widow asks between sniffles, eyes still wide in shock. Natasha sits up, happy to hide herself behind a large ficus and tests her shoulder. It’s clunky and painful but it’s still in place.

“Yeah, I will be.” She says, and then before she thinks better of it. “Are you?”

 

Natasha regrets the question as soon as the kid looks at the empty pumpkin basket by her side and starts sobbing in short little stuttered huffs.

“They…stole….my….candy,” she gets out in between sobs and kicks at her little basket, the hollow sound proving that yes, it is candy-less.

Natasha has no idea what to do with that so she uses the same answer she gave Nick Fury sixteen hours ago when he informed her the prototype chip for the Quinjet targeting systems had been stolen. “Do you want me to steal it back, I’m the Black Widow you know, I’m pretty good at that.” She says, thinking about the tiny microchip she has tucked away in her boot. SHIELD will be happy to see that returned.

The little girl shakes her head and sighs, “No, I know you’re not the real Black Widow.” The disappointment in her voice is evident.

“Oh, okay. Good.” Natasha nods and then bumps the little girls foot with her own. “Ditto.” That seems to get a small smile out of her.

“I just, I want to be like her.” The little girl whispers, eyes downcast, tracing the triangles on her belt. “I want to be strong like her. No one would steal from her!” She huffs, tiny fists clenched in adorable rage.

 _If only you knew_ , Natasha thinks. A lot has been stolen from her, things more valuable than just candy. And what's worse, a lot has been replaced with lies. She has a memory of running from house to house draped in a white sheet, of hiding under blankets playing a song with crinkling wrappers and eating sweets until her stomach turns.

It’s a nice memory even if it isn’t real. And…suddenly she wants to give it to this Black Widow, something sweet and real and hers.

Natasha stands, brushing the dirt off her tac suit and holds out her hand. “Let’s go get your candy back.”

The child looks at her, half torn between confusion and hope.

“Come on,” Natasha prods, “We’re Black Widows right. No one steals from us.”

Natasha never does tell anyone about how she spends the rest of her night stealing candy from children but when the tiny Black Widow looks at her in awe with chocolate smothered on her chin, well, it’s kind of worth it.

 

 


End file.
